Changes 2: Tracing Time
by Side Quest Publications
Summary: Fourteen years after they began their "game," Damien Darkh and Eobard Thawne finally recruit Leonard Snart into the Legion of Doom. The changes they'd inflicted on his timeline broke him, transforming him into what he hates most... a man just like his father. Can the Legends fix the Legion's manipulation, or, thanks to his eidetic memory, will the damage prove permanent?
1. Final Recruit?

**In which the Legion of Doom finally visits Leonard Snart to officially recruit him.**

 **Canon warning: I have not, at this time of writing (and certainly not while planning this story), caught up on Legends of Tomorrow Season 2.  
I'm working on a Netflix binge between work shifts, but I _do not know_ for certain the actual moment of Len's timeline the Legion recruited him from, and everything I've read says the exact moment isn't confirmed anyway. The timing I chose is based on the fact that 1) he has the cold gun (well, the Legion could theoretically have given it to him), and 2) he isn't with his own time's Mick (and more to the point, Len's comment to Legends!Mick about how they never destroy their loot, which Mick had done with the painting in their very next episode).**

 **Ben Santini and _one_ of the people Len would have "dared talk to" (Amber, though not mentioned by name) copyright me.  
** **All others seen or mentioned copyright** **DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

"We're going back tonight," Leonard said.

"Back where?" one of his thugs asked.

"To the museum," Leonard explained. "That diamond isn't going to steal itself."

"Super gun freeze your brain, Snart?" the other thug scoffed. "The museum's going to be crawling with police by now. _And_ the Streak."

"This can stop the Streak," Leonard said, hefting the cold gun. "It hurt him, and I know his _real_ weakness. So we go, unless you want out."

"We both want out," one of the thugs growled.

 _click!_

Leonard paused, barely turning his head when he sensed the guns pointed at him.

"Alive," the thug finished.

"So you thought ahead and made a plan," Leonard drawled. "Least I taught you something." He sighed. "So what are you waiting for? _Shoot_ me."

Neither thug moved.

 _Morons._ Clearly they needed another lesson in _following_ their plans, but he just couldn't dredge up the energy to care any more. "You better put a bullet in my brain right now," he snarled. "Because if you don't, I ever see either one of you again..."

"You don't get it, do you? This blur is out there, and Central City ain't your playground anymore."

The two left the warehouse, covering him with their pistols until they were out of sight.

"Sure it is," Leonard muttered, returning his attention to admiring the cold gun.

"I wouldn't bet on that just yet," a voice said from behind him. "Of course, I would've killed them for even _thinking_ of threatening me."

Leonard spun to face the intruder, but when he saw who it was, he lowered the cold gun.

"Hello, Darkh," Leonard greeted his long-ago rescuers. "Merlyn. Thawne." He cocked his head and eyed the three men warily before focusing on Eobard. "Is that a common name, or..."

Eobard grimaced. "The detective is a distant relative," he replied. "Unfortunately. He's something of a black sheep in the family. I guess you could call me Eobard if it makes it easier."

Leonard shrugged. "I'm sure you've noticed that my crew just vanished, so I'm a little busier than normal. Could this wait, or was there something you gentlemen needed?"

"I've got a job for you," Eobard replied. "Something a little more interesting than swiping a diamond out from under the Flash's nose."

Leonard frowned. "What's the flash?"

"Right, sorry, you still call him the Streak, don't you?"

"I wasn't aware he had any other name." Leonard glanced at the other two men, but they seemed content to let Eobard do the talking.

 _Strange_. He'd been certain Damien was in charge of the group, the way the man had handled the rescue operation.

That was ten years ago, though. Clearly their arrangement had changed in that time. Or perhaps things hadn't been as obvious as they'd seemed; Leonard's own perspective had been horribly compromised back then, after all.

"Not yet," Eobard said. "Give it a week; it'll catch on. Though I believe you prefer 'the Scarlet Speedster.'"

Leonard tossed the gun aside, folded his arms, and sat down on the nearest table. "This job... I suppose I should hear you out. I owe you three at _least_ that much. What sort of job?"

"We're after a very special artifact," Eobard said. "Powerful enough to change the world. To change reality itself. With it, you could have anything you want, with no cops, no Flash—no _Streak_ —to get in your way."

"Hmm... sounds like a wonderful dream," Leonard murmured. He sighed and shook his head. "Sorry. I'll have to take a pass. I learned the hard way what happens when you believe in them too strongly, as you three should remember." He turned around to reach for his cold gun and blueprints. "If that will be all...?"

"It's not a dream!" Eobard hissed.

The hairs on the back of Leonard's neck stood on end. Part of it was nerves, an instinct that warned him of danger, and part of it...

What was that, static? It wasn't _that_ dry in here.

"I am terribly sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Thawne," Damien said.

His voice sounded closer. _Much_ too close.

 _Sloppy_. Just because they'd saved him once didn't mean he could trust them. He'd known then that they'd only busted him out of that hellhole because they had a use for him, and he doubted a decade had changed their motives. If he'd just lost that usefulness by turning down this job...

"I know Mr. Snart is fond of his pretty baubles," Damien continued before Leonard could react, "but I was _certain_ he'd welcome the chance to see Lisa again."

 _Lisa?_ How did Damien—how could any of them—know about Lisa?

But when he turned back around to ask, the three men were gone.

Leonard shivered. Had they simply been another hallucination?

He took a deep breath and forced himself to walk over to the spot where he'd seen them standing. The static was stronger over here, and the air stunk of ozone.

There he found several markings charred into the table. There was a trio of hexagons, and within two of them were a stylized arrowhead and a lightning bolt.

Within the third hexagon was simply the word " _tonight_."

—CHANGES: TRACING TIME—

"There's nowhere to run," the Streak— _Flash?_ Leonard thought. _Whatever_ —said.

Leonard took advantage of the speedster's proximity to examine the face visible under the mask.

 _Yellow_. The Flash's eyes, when he used his power, were yellow. Not red like the thing in the hospital.

 _Pity_. That could've been solid proof that he hadn't been hallucinating... and the perfect excuse to kill the speedster on the spot.

"I didn't see you before," Leonard said with a smirk. "Your mom know you're out past your bedtime?"

A flash of yellow outside distracted Leonard for just a moment. When he returned his attention to the Flash, he saw a series of marks etched into the sign behind the speedster: a trio of hexagons, an arrowhead, and a lightning bolt.

 _Looks like this is my stop._

The Flash grinned. "If you wanted to get away you should've taken something faster than a train."

"That's if I wanted to get away," Leonard replied.

The Flash's grin vanished.

"I've seen your weakness at the armored car," Leonard continued, "then at the theater. See, while you're busy saving everybody, I'll be saving myself."

He gave the Flash just a moment to let those words sink in before he aimed the cold gun at the floor.

The Flash ducked, hiding his eyes from the glare, unable to do anything to stop Leonard as the ice burst through the bottom of the train.

In mere seconds, the squeal told the thief he'd accomplished his goal, and the passengers screamed as the train began to lose control.

Leonard fought to maintain his balance as he made his way towards the emergency exit.

"Good luck with that!" Leonard called to the Flash. He leapt to the ground and rolled to a stop. He only waited to catch his breath before he ran to put some distance between himself and the impending wreck.

Once he was sure he was safe he turned around, but his view was blocked by the three men who watched him.

Leonard narrowed his eyes at the way Eobard blurred in front of him. "You're a speedster," he realized. "Like the... the Flash." Or like the thing in the hospital.

But it had been too dark to see what the thing really looked like. And he couldn't tell what color Eobard's eyes were.

Eobard bristled. "I am _better_ than the Flash could even dream of becoming," he spat.

"Easy, Mr. Thawne," Damien murmured. "He doesn't know your history with the Flash."

"So, are you in?" Malcolm asked.

"Lisa is..." Leonard said, then hesitated.

Is what? Dead? Instinct told him she was, but there was no evidence that she'd ever even existed.

Not real? That's what logic told him. What the doctors told him. What _everyone_ told him. Even Lewis insisted there was no such person, whenever Leonard could stomach the man's presence long enough to broach the subject.

One of the only people he could dare talk to had disappeared before that nightmare transfer. By the time he met back up with Mick, Leonard had been terrified of being committed again, and had simply quit asking about her.

But if she was just another hallucination, as she must be, then how could these three know how important she was to him? How badly he needed to protect her? Even his ramblings in that hellhole couldn't have told anyone that much, but how else could Damien have known earlier to mention her name?

"History is a delicate thing," Eobard murmured once Damien had calmed him down. "You should never change it so carelessly."

Leonard frowned. "I'm sorry, wait. You said _changing_ history? We're talking about time travel, now?"

"I am," Eobard replied. "We're all from different times. I come from the twenty-second century, I recruited Damien from thirty years ago, and Malcolm... "

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I'm just a couple of years ahead of you," he said.

Eobard grinned. "He's still embarrassed. We've all had some rather nasty setbacks—or _will_ , in your and Damien's cases—Malcolm's just happens to be a little closer to the day I recruited him."

"And what do these... setbacks have to do with Lisa?" Leonard asked. "Or are you not allowed to tell me that?"

"We need the artifact to prevent these setbacks, but there's another group trying to stop us," Eobard replied. "Time travelers, all of them. You're part of their team, actually— _will be_ from your perspective, _were_ from theirs."

"Don't try to figure out the tenses," Malcolm warned. "Eobard gets himself off on giving people headaches."

Eobard scowled at the archer.

"Their motives were admirable enough, at first," Damien admitted. "Even you respected them. But they were careless. Changed things they should've left alone, and it threatened their success. In order to preserve the mission, you attempted to blow up the, uh..." He glanced at Eobard.

"The Oculus Wellspring," Eobard supplied. "A device used to manipulate time; sabotaging the Wellspring freed them to complete their mission. But your proximity to the explosion sent a shockwave through your personal timeline, shattered your very history to pieces. I'm sure you've had moments where you've felt disconnected from reality? _That's_ why, not because of anything as mundane as a hallucination."

Leonard took a moment to process the explanation. He wasn't certain whether to believe a single word they told him; the entire story was just too insane to accept.

But so was the Flash. If Eobard's theory was correct, then maybe Leonard hadn't lost his mind all those years ago.

But if he _hadn't_ lost his mind, then what had he seen at the hospital?

Leonard shivered. "And how does Lisa fit into this?" he finally asked. Time enough to worry about that thing later.

"Your sister wasn't supposed to die," Damien murmured.

Leonard stared at him.

"But now..." Damien shrugged. "The Wellspring gives us fragments, sometimes; we've seen what happened to her. But you're the only who truly remembers her."

"How?" Leonard asked, his voice unexpectedly rough. His eyes stung. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How did she die?"

Damien and Eobard glanced at each other.

"Are you sure you want to know that?" Eobard asked. "It isn't pleasant. Harder men than you would be sickened by it."

"I _need_ to know," Leonard said. "Please."

Eobard sighed and nodded. He lifted his arm to speak into a device there. "Gideon, show him the footage I salvaged."

A face appeared in midair. "Of course, Mr. Thawne."

The face transformed into a hologram. Leonard saw a woman there, a dark-haired beauty—

 _Lisa_... Leonard fought to swallow the painful lump in his throat.

Someone snuck up on her. Ben Santini, the leader of Leonard's old gang.

Lisa had only a moment to whirl around at Ben's presence, to recognize him, her mouth dropping in shock.

He pointed a gun at her, but instead of bullets it sent a massive shockwave through her.

Leonard dropped to his hands and knees, releasing the diamond to let it roll away somewhere. He squeezed his eyes shut against the footage, but he couldn't erase what he'd just seen. He couldn't forget Ben's eyes, flashing red as the blast tore into—

He began retching.

A pair of hands grasped his shoulders, supporting him until his body was convinced his stomach was empty.

Leonard risked a glance up. Malcolm knelt by him, but the archer scowled at the footage.

Or rather, at the empty space where the footage had been.

A crackle of lightning, and Eobard crouched in front of the shaking thief. "I can't promise you revenge," the speedster murmured, "but if you help us, I will do absolutely everything in my power to see you reunited with your sister. But I have a condition."

"Name it," Leonard rasped.

"Follow my orders. Without question."

Leonard winced.

"Second guess me all you like," Eobard continued. " _After_. I know you can't help it; you're too smart not to. And anyway, we'll be taking turns taking charge as our unique skills come into play. But I need to know that I can trust you to do whatever I need, _whenever_ I need it, without wasting time questioning me."

"There will still be people like... like _that_ ," Leonard said. "We get this artifact, I'll be able to protect her?"

"When this is all over, I guarantee, nobody will be able to hurt either of you, ever again." Eobard reached out a hand to Leonard. "So are you in?"

Leonard took only two seconds to decide, and let Eobard pull him to his feet. "Yeah. I'm in." He didn't spare the diamond another thought as the speedster swept him away.

* * *

 **Timing and linked fics:  
** **The time at the hospital, and the "nightmare transfer" to "that hellhole," featured in the Flash Sideways prequel fic "What Could Have Been" as well as the Changes fic "Time May Change Me." The two stories are effectively alternate timelines of each other, courtesy of the Legion's interference.  
The thing Len saw in the hospital, Lisa's death and subsequent erasure from history, and the role the Legion played in "rescuing" him three years later are specific to the Time May Change Me version of events.**


	2. In Training

**In which my time-shifted metahuman assassin sneaks into my time-travel story and screws up a training session.  
(It was this or have Len just cower away from Malcolm entirely... which _was_ the first draft of the chapter. Granted, the absence of Lisa from his life _would_ have had a significant impact on his personality, even with his ability to remember other timelines, but... apparently Majummed thought stepping in was the better way to go.)  
The Legion, needless to say, is _not happy_ , but poor Len really has no idea what just happened...**

 **Canon warning: Still haven't caught up on the season. Haven't even started on that Netflix binge-going two months without a working computer will do that.  
I remembered bits and pieces of different episodes from when they originally aired-in fact, tried to watch Chicago Way back then, _without_ bothering to watch the previous episodes, just because I wanted to see how Len's reappearance was scripted-and rewatched those particular episodes to make sure I have the scenes right when recreating them, but so far that's about it.**

 **Update: Edited because "listened to something only he can hear" (and similar) _really_ does not make sense when the scene is from the perspective of the person who supposedly can hear it. ****Changed so that everything he "hears" or "sees" is primarily subconscious, like a dream, and the Oculus is just giving Len enough of a sense of what's going on to have a conversation with Mick.**

 **All characters (all? Huh, not a single OC to be mentioned this time)** **copyright** **DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

 _Vanishing Point_

Leonard raced through the corridors, trying desperately to outrun his pursuer.

He burst into the council chamber— _no place to hide_ —and looked around wildly for another escape route.

Several levels above, Damien and Eobard peered down to watch the show.

"How many times has it been?" Damien asked.

Eobard shrugged. "I lost count after fifty-two."

"So where'd you hide it this time?" Damien asked.

Eobard simply pointed to a higher level on the other side of the chamber.

Damien looked up at the level indicated and scoffed at the cold gun prominently on display. "He's been all over the place by now. He'll find it. You might not even have to step in."

"I'm _done_ stepping in!" Eobard snarled. "I had no idea he'd be a damn coward without his sister. But he's useless if he won't fight."

"He'll fight," Damien insisted. "He'll do whatever he thinks necessary to bring her back. He simply has no experience with a proper duel."

"He never _will_ have it if he keeps running away," Eobard pointed out.

Damien shook his head. "We recruited him for _his_ skills, not to make him Mr. Merlyn's dog. Mr. Snart is an excellent sniper, and I admit I wouldn't mind seeing him try his hand at the bow, but swordplay has never been his style. Once he retrieves his gun—"

A weighted rope shot out from a side corridor and tangled around Leonard's ankles. The thief went down with a yelp.

Damien threw his hands and the air. "And _now_ he uses the bolo," he muttered.

Eobard snickered. "You were saying?"

Damien frowned. "He isn't getting up," he said. "Even _you_ wouldn't waste your tools that quickly. If he hit his head..."

"Ugh, _fine_ ," Eobard snapped, and zipped them both down below.

A dark-clad figure stalked out of the side corridor. He considered the motionless thief for a moment, then tossed down a sword. He waved a second sword idly in one hand.

"Pick it up," Malcolm growled, his voice muffled by the hood.

Leonard flinched at the assassin's voice. He made no move for the sword or the bolo around his ankles.

"Pick up the sword, Leonard," Malcolm commanded him again.

Leonard attempted to crawl away from Malcolm, the motion made awkward by the bolo he refused to touch.

Eobard and Damien blocked his path.

" _Pick it up and face me, or I'll cut you down like a dog!_ " Malcolm snapped.

"Better do as he says," Eobard warned. "Because I'm running out of patience. Which means you're running out of options. Which means—" He glanced at Damien "— _Lisa's_ running out of options."

Leonard's eyes flashed. He rolled to the side and pushed himself up into a crouch in what appeared to be a single move. The bolo lay at his feet, shredded by the knife he wielded. The fear had vanished from his eyes, replaced with an intensity that fairly made them glow.

"That's better," Eobard said. "Perhaps we could—"

"Are you fucking kidding me!" Malcolm snapped. He glowered at Leonard, who glared back... at a spot somewhere to the side of Malcolm's head. "How the hell are you supposed to train if you still won't even _look_ at me?"

Damien snapped his fingers. "That's what's been bothering me," he said. "Perhaps he'd have an easier time facing you if you removed your armor."

"Seriously?" Eobard scoffed.

Damien shrugged. "Indulge me. It may be a phobia of some kind interfering."

"A lot of people are afraid of the League," Malcolm protested. "With good reason. But I wouldn't have expected someone with _his_ experience to simply roll over and play dead."

"Be that as it may," Damien replied, "see how his eyes just slide right past you? I don't think he refuses to look at you, I think he honestly _can't_. For someone with his experience, I imagine the inability to face down his opponent is frightening enough all on its own."

Malcolm shook his head, but he removed the League armor as suggested. Leonard barely gave it a glance before he faced his assailant head-on.

The assassin shivered at the chill emanating from the thief. "Maybe _now_ we can work on the sword?" Malcolm said, as he tried to ignore the sensation.

"I thought that was the point," Eobard said. "I thought he wasn't supposed to have any other weapons for these sessions." He shook his head. "I checked him myself; where was he hiding that knife?" He glanced at the thief again, then did a double-take. "And where did he put it?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Hell if I know. I told you to pick up the sword, Leonard."

" _I will not_ ," Leonard replied in Arabic. " _I do not recognize Al Sa-her's authority_."

Malcolm gave a start. "Did either of you know he knew that language?" he asked.

Damien shook his head. "I'm not surprised he'd be adept at languages, but I have no idea where he would've picked that one up."

"Maybe he _did_ hit his head," Eobard murmured. He looked at the other two members of the group. "Wait, you two actually understand him?"

"You agreed to train with me—" Malcolm began, ignoring the speedster.

" _With Malcolm Merlyn_ ," Leonard corrected, still speaking in Arabic. " _Not with one of the Horsemen. I am forbidden from having dealings with the League. Do not make this demand again_."

"One of our adversaries has League training," Damien pointed out. "What do you plan to do if you have to face her?"

Leonard shrugged. " _Leonard will have to fight her without true awareness of the League_ ," he replied. " _Or she will learn why I am forbidden from their methods._ "

"Did he just refer to himself in the third person?" Malcolm asked.

"That's what it sounded like," Damien replied.

"Seriously, guys," Eobard growled. "You two obviously understand whatever gibberish he's saying, now _what is he saying_?"

Leonard gave a visible shudder. The intensity vanished from his eyes. He looked around the room, his brow furrowed in confusion.

His eyes skipped past the League armor and the weapons, and widened as he took in the three men glaring at him. "What just happened?" he asked, speaking in English once again. "I... I don't..." He groaned and rubbed his head where it had connected with the floor. "I must've hit my head. I mean, I didn't black out?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Again?"

" _Again_?" Eobard echoed. "But you have an _eidetic memory_! You're saying this has happened before?"

Leonard nodded.

"How long has this been going on?" Damien asked.

"Since I was ten," Leonard mumbled.

Damien frowned. "So not because of..." He glanced at Eobard.

The speedster shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Leonard said. "I guess I should've told you before. But it hasn't happened in a long time. Except for..." He shrugged. "I thought— _hoped_ —that it was over with. But ever since you three recruited me, every time I try to train with you, everything just gets... vague."

"It would seem that you are unable to spar with Mr. Merlyn," Damien replied, "in any capacity related to the League."

"But why would that prevent him from training with me?" Malcolm asked. "A blackout shouldn't affect muscle memory. But whatever that was..."

"I suppose that depends on the _reason_ for these blackouts," Damien replied. "I agree, though, it is very puzzling. Equally puzzling is the question of him defending himself from a League-trained assassin if attempting to _train_ against one is going to keep triggering... whatever that was."

Eobard cocked his head. "I _might_ have a suggestion for that one," he said.

—CHANGES: TRACING TIME—

"So what's this supposed to do?" Malcolm shouted. He could barely hear himself over the screaming.

"With any luck it'll purge that phobia right out of him," Eobard yelled back. "The people that—" He shook his head and motioned for Damien and Malcolm to follow him out of the room.

"The people that left this place behind," Eobard continued in a normal tone, "used this machine to brainwash their super-soldiers."

"But we don't want to go _that_ far," Damien protested. "Ensuring his obedience is one thing, but if you destroy his intellect just to deal with a little phobia, he'll be useless!"

"He's _already_ useless," Eobard repeated. "If this 'little phobia' prevents him from even _looking_ at a member of the League, then who knows what other orders it could force him to disobey?" He jerked his head towards the room. "But this machine won't touch his intellect; it'll keep him obedient while leaving his personality intact." He grinned. "He'll be loyal, like a dog."

"Don't forget," Malcolm said, "sometimes even the most loyal dog has a way of slipping his leash." He looked in the direction of the screaming. "Especially if you've kicked him too many times."

"And some dogs need to be put down." Eobard shrugged. "But we'll get what we need out of him long before that happens."

—CHANGES: TRACING TIME—

 _Vanishing Point, Days (Weeks?) Later_

"Get up," Malcolm said. "Damn it, Leonard, you need to get up before they catch you laying about."

Leonard opened his eyes, more a reaction to the unwanted proximity of another person than to the warning the man had given.

He fought to stay awake, but it was little use. He couldn't focus on anything, not even the man hovering over his cot, and his eyes slipped shut again.

The "treatment" Eobard had arranged _had_ worked, to a certain extent. The thief had swiftly returned to the confident man they'd spoken with in Central City.

He no longer ran from his sparring sessions with Malcolm. In fact, he was almost embarrassed that he'd ever been afraid to touch the sword, and feared, instead, that Eobard would simply kill him if he could not prove to them that he was no coward.

The "phobia," as the others had called it, seemed to be gone, with little sign but for his odd tendency to alternate between grasping the hilt with a white-knuckled grip and holding it so gingerly that a stiff breeze could knock it from his hands. But hold it he did, and while he might never be adept at swordplay, he learned to defend himself from it easily enough.

But there had been an unexpected side effect. Leonard had grown increasingly lethargic of late. Even when he remained alert, he sometimes shook violently for hours at a time. He hadn't been this sick in years, not since the moment he now knew to be Lisa's death. Rousing himself had become harder than ever, and now he couldn't seem to keep himself awake.

Eobard had been rushing about and had paid the thief little attention since "treating" his phobia, but the speedster was not a patient man.

He had to wake up!

"What seems to be the trouble?" Damien asked.

"I'm not sure," Malcolm replied in a murmur—or maybe it was that damn lassitude that made it so difficult to hear him. "His vitals are so faint, I'm not sure I'd be able to detect them without my League training. I don't think he can wake up."

Leonard shivered, unable to deny the assassin's claim.

It had been Damien's idea to shore up his strength with a touch of magic before the speedster noticed, but he didn't believe for an instant that Damien's motivation went any further than the group's—or even his own—ability to use the thief. It would only be a matter of time before all three gave up on him if this illness continued. And when that happened, when Eobard lost his last shred of patience, there would be nobody to stop the speedster from simply putting Leonard down.

Footsteps approached. Damien's, of course.

A slight jolt ran through him, and Leonard's eyes fluttered and opened wider. His vision was still blurry, but he was finally able to see Damien standing there, one hand outstretched, not _quite_ touching him.

"Can you sense anything?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm not the expert in changing history that Mr. Thawne is," Damien finally said. "Far from it. Though I dare say even he has no idea what it's done to Mr. Snart."

Leonard opened his mouth and tried to speak.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked before Leonard could frame the same question.

"Mr. Snart has an eidetic memory," Damien explained. "This alone is not unusual, though given Mr. Thawne's fascination with the subject, I imagine it has made him a _very_ unusual individual under the circumstances."

Leonard managed to frown. This was news to him.

Damien saw the frown and nodded. "You remember your sister," he explained to the thief, "when nobody else does—and remembered her well enough to find yourself treated for hallucinations in an insane asylum. This, as well as your _physical_ illness at the moment of her death, suggests that the mere fact of changing your personal history so drastically has affected you very badly. That is Mr. Thawne's theory, at any rate, a theory I am willing to accept in the absence of a better explanation. And yet, you had physically recovered from that change long before you were sent to that place. Why?"

Malcolm cocked his head. "The phobia," he said. "That... other personality. It's the only thing about him strong enough to withstand that kind of torture; with his upbringing, he could easily have invented the connection to the League as a defensive mechanism."

 _Other personality?_ Leonard blinked. _Connection to the League?_ What was Malcolm talking about? What the hell was happening to him during his blackouts?

"A defensive mechanism... perhaps," Damien agreed. "But the existence of that 'little phobia' may well be the only thing that's kept him stable since his sister's death. Now that Eobard's purged it..." He shrugged.

"S'now wha...?" Leonard slurred. He blinked until he could focus on the two men, and tried speaking again. "Wha... ca'I... do... ab... about... it?"

He struggled to push himself up. Malcolm lifted a hand, but let it drop without touching him.

"I can't keep reinforcing you," Damien replied. "Without some way to keep you stable, continuing to feed you magic would be like trying to mop up a flood. I wonder, though..." He reached his hand out again.

Leonard flinched, but allowed Damien to touch his forehead.

"I could bind your life to another," Damien suggested, "allow you to draw on their strength." He glanced at Malcolm and smirked.

Leonard sagged in the cot. No help from that quarter, and Damien had to know it. Malcolm _might_ have been willing to offer his strength, if only to ensure Leonard's continued usefulness. But with the speedster in charge, anything even resembling sympathy could get both of them killed.

"Trouble is," Damien continued, "this illness seems to be a result of _changing_ your history; binding you to someone from _this_ timeline might not be enough. I'm afraid even Mr. Thawne wouldn't be able to reach anyone useful, not before our mission is completed."

Leonard cocked his head. "What about Mick?" he finally said. "Not as I remember him, but the man this other group recruited. Eobard said time travelers are resistant to these changes. Couldn't I borrow his strength?"

"I'd need his agreement," Damien said. "That isn't normally an issue with my power, but binding him would work on his mind as much as his physical strength. He'd need to _know_ he's helping you."

"Oh."

Malcolm scoffed. "Eobard's already moping about how much time he thinks we're wasting. No way would he take a chance having to rescue Leonard from their ship. And the two of us would never get him close enough."

"Ah, but Mr. Snart doesn't _need_ to be on the ship," Damien said, "when the Oculus Wellspring is right around the corner. If you could stand up?"

Leonard nodded, and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled a little, and Malcolm reached out to steady him, before the two followed Damien out through the council chamber.

"I thought you said that thing was nearly destroyed in the explosion!" Malcolm protested. "You can _see_ plenty, but nobody can use it to manipulate anything."

"Given Mr. Snart's proximity to that explosion," Damien replied, "he might be the only one right now who _can_." He waved Leonard on to the small pool of light. "You'll have to take care of this one alone, I'm afraid. Mr. Merlyn and I have our own tasks to return to, but we'll try to get you a moment alone with your partner. Though if I might suggest... don't explain things to him just yet. You want him to cooperate, not to believe that you've lost your mind."

Leonard nodded. Some instinct told him to beware, some small, quiet voice warning him against secrecy. But his head felt stuffed full of cotton, stifling that voice, and the thought vanished before he could focus on it properly.

He took slow, careful steps away from the physical support Malcolm offered, steadying as he approached the light. He held one hand out, allowing the light to wash over him, strengthening him slightly.

Two pairs of footsteps walked away behind him.

He closed his eyes, and watched events play in his mind until he could find the right moment. The experience was bizarre, to say the least. Like being able to consciously interact with a dream but without any conscious awareness of what he was interacting _with_ , just a vague sense of Mick's presence and general tone. He found that if he concentrated he could perceive something more definite, but right now it was all he could do to stay connected to the Wellspring.

He opened his eyes to glare at something he could only truly see in the deepest reaches of his subconscious. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he said.

He paused, listening to something that, once again, he had no conscious awareness of.

"Of course you are. Why else would you still be here, taking orders like a well-trained puppy? You're not right in the head, Mick." _Easy_ , he warned himself. Questioning Mick's sanity probably wasn't the right way to do this, not when his own was still so very much in doubt.

"That's why I'm here," Leonard continued, "to set you straight." Just like he'd always done whenever things went badly for them. But would Mick— _this_ version of Mick—remember things that way?

He swayed on his feet and staggered away from the Wellspring.

The light vanished before he could hear Mick's response.

He felt his legs give out from under him...

A pair of hands caught him under the arms and lowered him gently to the ground.

"Did it work?" Malcolm asked.

Leonard blinked and stared up at the assassin. "I think so," he mumbled. "It's a start." He tried to push himself back onto his feet, but even with Malcolm's help he could barely make it to his knees. "Uh... Eobard's not going to like me camping out in here, is he?"

"Why don't you let me worry about Mr. Thawne for now?" Damien suggested. "We'll need to prepare him for Mr. Rory's cooperation, in any case. You just focus on getting your strength back."

* * *

 **Timing and linked fics:  
** **The blackouts and Len's connection to the League are hinted at in the short fic Confessions (rated M for a single chapter with non-con, which is _not_ related to the blackouts), and are the primary premise of the Majummed story-verse.**


	3. Field Work

**A time skip, in which Leonard Snart officially takes his place as a member of the Legion of Doom.**

 **Takes place during Legends of Tomorrow S1E15 Fellowship of the Spear**

 **All characters seen or mentioned copyright DC, CW, etc.**

* * *

 _Vanishing Point_

Damien stared at the chart, his amusement warring with impatience as he waited for Eobard's tantrum to run its course.

"Agh!" _Crash!_

And there went all of that sensitive equipment that Eobard had claimed was so very critical to their mission.

Damien chuckled. "Temper, _temper_." He turned around and grinned at the furious speedster.

"Don't _test_ me, Damien!" Eobard snarled.

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Damien asked. "You sent me and Malcolm off to find the Kalabros Manuscript while the Legends managed to abscond with the Spear of Destiny. I should have that zombie speedster you're so afraid of eat your brain."

"No," Eobard murmured. "No, this... is actually a positive development."

"Or maybe he already has," Damien added.

Eobard shook his head. "With the entire Spear in the Legends' possession, we no longer have to keep going after it piecemeal."

"Yeah..." Damien said, "I'm a glass half-full kind of guy—"

"The Legendary idiots won't be able to _use_ it!" Eobard insisted. "They'll either try to hide it or destroy it, and when they do, we'll be there, waiting."

"No."

Eobard stared at other man. "Excuse me?"

"Not just us," Damien explained. "I'm not sure if you're keeping score, Eobard, but we're _losing_. So it's time to change the game. It's time to bring Leonard in on our quest."

Eobard scoffed. "That layabout will never be ready to join us. Too much has changed for him already."

"Changes that _we_ made, as I recall," Damien pointed out.

"Do you think I don't know that? Those changes were supposed to _motivate_ him to help us, but they've done the exact opposite!" Eobard zipped back and forth around the room between sentences, slowing down to pace at a human speed when he spoke. "How was I supposed to know that changing his history would make him that sick? The effect of time travel on someone with an eidetic memory is barely even understood in my era."

Damien shook his head. "Be that as it may, we did recruit him. _You_ recruited him. You chose him, just like you chose us. Because you need him for something. I only ask that you keep that in mind before you lose the rest of your patience. And that you remember our deal."

"You have no idea what I need him for," Eobard muttered. "But, yes, I remember. _Our_ deal. As in the three of us. You, me, Malcolm. What I don't remember is Leonard being a part of that. Now why do you suppose that is?" He smacked his forehead. "Of course, how could I have forgotten? Because while you and Malcolm were playing your little game in the bank vault, Leonard was in here, being _completely useless_."

"Not _completely_ useless," Damien replied. "See, while I still haven't found an artifact that will give me full use of my magic, I was able to fashion a spell to help him recover by binding his life force to another's. Specifically to a member of the Legends."

Eobard shrugged. "And that's helpful, how, exactly?"

Damien smirked. "Because I told him that whoever's strength he borrows needs to know that he's borrowing it."

"You mean he's been talking to them," Eobard growled. "I am going to ask you one more time, Damien, and partnership or not you had better have a good answer for me. _How_ is it supposed to be helpful _to us_ if he is talking to the Legends?"

"To _one_ of the Legends," Damien corrected him. "More to the point, one of the Legends has been talking to him. The beauty of it is, Mick Rory thinks he's been hallucinating the whole thing. And since we've never allowed Rip access to certain parts of the ruins, not one of their team has _any_ idea that we have their former, uh... future... ex..." he waved vaguely "late team-mate."

A slow grin spread across Eobard's face. "Then he can tell us their next move."

"Precisely."

—CHANGES: TRACING TIME—

Leonard was slumped against a wall, fiddling with the hologram of a small dagger, when the footsteps approached behind him. "I apologize that you feel like you have to take things _slow_ around me," he said. "That can't be easy... for a speedster." He flung the dagger at the wall and shot it with the cold gun.

The ice hit the wall in the shape of the dagger before both vanished into thin air. The dagger reappeared beside him, and he picked it up again to balance its point on a fingertip.

"Bored?" Damien asked.

"Always." Leonard turned his head so he faced the two men. "If you're looking for intel, I'm afraid you're both too late." He released the dagger and the hologram vanished.

"Why's that?" Eobard asked.

"It's a funny thing," Leonard said, "being cooped up somewhere that exists outside of time. While you three have been racing around for months on end—and I never did congratulate you on how you screwed up Rip's mind, by the way—for me, it's only been a couple of weeks since you picked me up from the train. The last time I heard from Mick was fifty-two minutes ago; hell if I know how long it's been for him."

"What did he tell you?" Eobard said. "Anything about their plans for the Spear?"

Leonard shook his head. "At some point between 'I love you, man,' and 'you're an idiot,' the Professor discovered some kind of receiver the Time Bastards had planted in Mick's head. Not fully functional, but it seems that's how we've been able to communicate. Once they removed that..." He shrugged. "I can still track the Waverider, but that's it. The ship might as well be empty for all the Wellspring will show me now. I barely had any warning to get out of sight when they showed their faces here."

"Dammit, Leonard," Damien muttered. "This was supposed to be your moment to prove yourself."

"Sorry to disappoint," Leonard murmured.

"I'm not disappointed," Eobard said.

Leonard twisted around to look at the speedster. Damien lifted one eyebrow.

"I'm really not," Eobard insisted. "Listen, you just said you could track the Waverider, right? How?"

"I don't know," Leonard admitted. "The Professor thought I 'bonded' somehow with the temporal explosion in my future. _You_ suggested the blast goes through my entire timeline." He shrugged. "Maybe you're both right. I don't pretend to understand it, I just try to use it. Not sure how I can use it now, though."

"I told you before," Eobard said, "that we can take turns taking charge on specific objectives as our particular skills come into play."

Damien rolled his eyes. "Is _that_ what we've been doing?" he muttered.

" _Shush_ ," Eobard muttered back.

Leonard sighed. "Your point?"

"This, uh, sickness of yours," Eobard said. "Damien thinks you've recovered enough to contribute more directly to our mission. And, well, it was your skills as a _thief_ that I recruited you for, after all, not these new discoveries with the Wellspring."

"Are you going somewhere with this," Leonard asked, "or is this your way of telling me to take a nap?"

Eobard snickered. "Sorry, sometimes I forget you get bored almost as quickly as I do. What I'm trying to ask, Leonard, is this: Do you feel up to going outside, about seeing Mick face-to-face?"

—CHANGES: TRACING TIME—

" _My god, that_ is _a useful skill,_ " Eobard's voice came over the receiver. " _Not just the date, you predicted within an_ hour _of their arrival time._ "

"I don't know, an hour sounds a bit sloppy to me," Leonard said back. He poked his head out of the tent, but the only person he recognized was Damien heading his way. "I'm used to planning my heists down to the second. This 'hurry-and-wait' has never been my style; I'm sure you understand that better than anyone."

" _True,_ " Eobard admitted. " _It's such a pity you won't have a chance to experiment with this one_."

"What does that mean?" Leonard tapped the receiver in his ear. "Eobard? What did you mean by that? _Eobard!_ "

"Give it a _rest_ ," Damien snapped. He walked into the tent and settled himself in the corner. "Eobard, could you please _try_ not to sound so ominous for at least five minutes? You know it makes him jumpy. And as for _you_..." He pointed at Leonard. "I realize paranoia is how you've stayed alive all these years, but you need to get your head in the game. He _means_ that the Legends are nearby. In fact, I believe I've just seen your partner duck into a medical tent a few minutes ago."

"Which one?"

" _On your two 'o clock_ ," Eobard replied. " _Less than fifty meters away from our tent. There's a truck out front delivering food for the injured. Go find Mick, see what you can get out of him, then meet back with Damien. And let's try to keep radio silence; switch off your communicator for a while. We don't want the Waverider hacking our signal, especially not with you in the field._ "

"Understood," Leonard murmured. He poked his head out of the tent again and looked off to the right...

And didn't see a single medical tent within range, nor a tent of any kind with a food truck waiting outside.

"Um..." He ducked back into the tent and glanced at Damien.

Damien looked up from his drink long enough to roll his eyes and point off to the left.

"Got it," Leonard said. He looked outside again, and sure enough, off to the left was a food truck parked directly in front of a medical tent.

Leonard scoffed. Trust someone born in the digital age—or whatever came next—to have no idea how to use a clock to give directions.

He squinted to help his eyes adjust before investigating the darkness within the medical tent, then immediately squeezed between the nearest cot and the side of the tent. He watched, fighting a smile, as a nurse handed a basket of bread to Mick and the arsonist immediately tried to take a bite out of one of the loaves.

"Hey!" the nurse snapped. "Those are for them."

 _Good ol' Mick, always thinking with your stomach. Lisa loved to tease you about that_. He had to swallow the lump that tried to form in his throat. _Damien's right, I need to get my head in the game. I can't help Lisa if I can't focus_.

And so he watched as Mick tossed the loaves at the beds, neither man even sparing a glance to see whether the bread landed anywhere near where he'd aimed.

And finally, after a few more half-hearted throws, Mick glanced up to see Leonard watching him.

Mick just stopped and stared at him, quite literally as if he'd just seen a ghost.

Leonard walked out of the tent and waited by the truck. Footsteps, a tread both familiar and so very strange, followed close behind.

"My, my, my," Leonard drawled. "How the mighty have fallen."

"You said that," Mick said. "The last time you appeared." He grunted. "You pick a hell of a time to show up; I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Yeah. In the middle of being a good little doggie to those insufferable wannabes."

"Stay on mission, now," Mick grumbled. He covered his eyes with one hand. "Gotta find this hobbit guy."

 _Hobbit guy?_ In this era? He must be talking about the author. But what did Tolkien have to do with the Spear of Destiny?

"J," Mick continued. "R. R..."

 _Yup._ "Tolkien," Leonard finished. "Why? Hoping for an autograph?"

"I don't even know who the guy is," Mick replied. "All I know is I gotta find this hobbit guy, who knows the guy who's buried with Jesus' blood. Then we can destroy the Spear of Destiny."

Leonard sighed. "Mick, Mick, _Mick_. When have we ever destroyed anything we've ever stolen? Let alone the most valuable score in the universe." He shook his head. "What have they done to you?"

" _Mr. Rory?_ " The voice came, distant, from the vicinity of Mick's ear. " _Steal us an ambulance, will you?_ "

Mick covered his earpiece with one hand. "On it."

"What happened to the man who never took orders from anyone?" Leonard asked. "I respected the _hell_ out of that guy. Now you're just their... trained _pet_. Sit, Mick! Fetch, Mick! Good boy, Mick! Woof!"

Mick glared at him. "I am no one's pet," he said, his voice quiet enough to send shivers down Leonard's spine.

Leonard took a step back from the arsonist's impending fury. If Mick lost his temper, things could very easily go south for all of them. And if Mick really didn't realize it was the real Leonard in front of him... well, he might not lose his temper as easily, but he probably wouldn't pull his punches, either.

"Sure you are," Leonard muttered. "They may act all friendly to you, but they'll never trust you. Never." He paced around his former partner. "When the chips are down, they'll look at you the same way they always have... as a _thug_. But you and me? We're partners. At least, we were. And could be again."

Mick turned to watch him pace.

Leonard stopped pacing right in front of him. "Take the Spear of Destiny, Mick," he whispered. "Use it for yourself. Use it for _us_."

"There is no us," Mick replied. "You're _dead_."

"I don't have to be," Leonard told him. "With the Spear, it'd be so _easy_ to bring me back." _To bring back Lisa_ he almost added. But if this version of Mick didn't know she was dead... or worse, didn't know she had ever existed...

"You're in my head," Mick muttered. "You're a... you're an... illumination."

"A hallucination?" Leonard said.

"That's it."

Leonard rolled his eyes and swiftly punched Mick in the face before he could stop himself.

Mick sprang back just as swiftly, but all he did was stare at Leonard.

"Now, did that feel like a hallucination?" Leonard spat. He spun on his heel and stalked back to the Legion's tent, leaving Mick to continue to stare in confusion.

"And how was the reunion?" Damien asked.

Leonard glanced up at the man's smirk and then looked away. "I'm gonna let him, uh, spin out for a bit," he replied. "Then go in for the kill, so to speak."

"Meaning you lost your temper," Damien suggested.

"I don't _lose_ my temper," Leonard replied. "Unlike some people on this team."

Damien glanced down at Leonard's bruised knuckles and snickered. "Right. Just keep telling yourself that."

Leonard sighed. "I already knew he thought I was a hallucination."

"But _confirming_ that he thinks that, hearing him say it right to your face... that can't be easy for anyone. I imagine it brought home your, uh, _personal_ experience on the subject."

"That was fourteen _years_ ago!" Leonard snapped.

"Yes," Damien murmured. "Fourteen years since your sister was lost to time itself. Is that truly so long ago that you can expect to just... be okay with it?"

"I guess not."

"I mean that _is_ why you're working with us," Damien continued. "To be reunited with Lisa, to keep her safe. So on that note, did Mick say anything useful?"

"They want to destroy the Spear," Leonard replied. "Mick seems to think they can use the blood of Christ to do that. But I don't think he knows how."

A flash of lightning, and Eobard joined them in the tent. "And how do the Legends plan to find this blood? Did he at least tell you that much before you lost your temper and blew you cover?"

Leonard closed his eyes and reviewed the details Mick had given him. "They'll find their next clue in Sir Gawain's grave in the Church of Amiens."

"Mick said _that_?" Eobard asked. "I didn't think he'd even know that many big words."

"Not exactly," Leonard admitted. "He only said they're looking for Tolkien, so they can find, and I quote: 'the guy who's buried with Jesus' blood' so they can destroy the Spear. But if you look through your history books, you'll find that Tolkien wrote a paper titled The Burden of the Purest Heart, which was, among other things, about the author's theory that Sir Gawain had returned from the Crusades with a vial of the blood of Christ. A vial that was rumored to have been buried with him."

Damien and Eobard stared at him with their mouths open.

"What? I read, and I have an eidetic memory. Why is it so surprising that I would know something like that?"

Damien cleared his throat. "I guess I just never expected you to be a fan of Tolkien, is all. I mean, you're not really the type to follow a fad, and it doesn't seem like it'd be all that useful to a thief."

"Following fads can be _very_ useful for a thief," Leonard said. "Shocking as it sounds, even my father agreed... once I pointed out the random trivia some people choose for passwords and security questions." Which argument had made it a _lot_ easier to convince Lewis to let him read Lisa bedtime stories instead of...

Leonard drew in one shaky breath after another until he no longer felt the tears welling up in his eyes.

"Fair enough," Eobard said. "So..." He clapped his hands together. "Church of Amiens, then. I will leave the two of you to it." With another flash of lightning, he was gone.

"Is it just me," Leonard drawled, "or could this mission be a lot smoother if our esteemed leader would quit racing off every time something interesting happens?"

Damien nodded. "It's not just you. But Malcolm and I have already been over this. While you were recuperating we discovered that Eobard has a _very_ good reason to dislike staying in one place for long."

"Because he's a speedster?"

Damien wobbled one hand in the universal sign for 'so-so.' "Er... yes and no. Let's just say it has to do with why _he_ needs the Spear and leave it at that for now. It doesn't matter, anyway; we need to focus on the task at hand. I will continue to follow your lead on this one, so... what is our next step?"

"Hmm... I can get Mick on our side. But for that to happen, he'll need to know that I'm _actually_ here; they all will. What do you say we wait for them at the church?"

Damien cocked his head. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

 **Thanks to an unplanned staycation (was supposed to go on a motorcycle ride with my folks but I'm trying to get over a cold and I decided to stay home and get caught up on some of the backlog on my computer), I have finally, _finally_ caught up... on season 2.  
There's still Season 3 and the other shows to catch up on as well, not to mention re-watching relevant episodes to make sure I have dialogue etc right as I write this thing, but this means I can finally get back to work on this particular plot bunny without having to jump ahead of myself.**


End file.
